Twin Bed

A short guide to not only buying a mattress, but also to surviving the post-sale salesman small talk.

After much back and forth it was decided that the addition of a twin bed would be a good idea to the household.  We currently have a full size (or standard or what every you call it) futon convertible. But the addition of another sleeping surface is necessary. Especially considering our upcoming company. We also were considering it V’s future ‘Big Boy’ bed.

We did some price checking.  The whole usual sort of thing.

Blah blah blah… let me just skip to us pulling up to the store and add that we were actually the only car in the lot. Where the salesman parked, no idea. There was only one of him and literally no other cars in a quarter mile radius.

It took a while for us to decide.

We had to decide between the cheapest mattress they had and then the one slightly more expensive.

Let me illustrate how hard this decision was:

“Could you show me your least expensive mattress?”

“Yes… it’s right over here “, he said, slightly out of breath from the thought of a potential sale and also from running from his desk to a dark corner where he frantically tossed garbage off of a thin crappy looking mattress stuffed behind some sales props.

“Go ahead, lie down and see how it feels…. it’s, ummm, not the best”, he added, “It’s not what I’d like to sleep on. But go ahead. Lie down.”

I didn’t need to do that to know that it felt like a prison cot.

We opted for something else. I know my Mum appreciates the thought that went into making that tricky decision.

So M and V went outside to make a call and I went to pay.

With my Visa card and id on the far side of his desk and the sales screen open, Kevin proceeded to make the most painful small talk I have ever been a party to.

Here are a few topics he covered:

Farmers Markets and how they just ‘need a chance’, Puerto Ricans, his nagging dry cough, the drive he took with his wife last weekend, how he works Saturdays, why he likes fresh vegetables…

This whole conversation was actually directed at the front of the store and not at me. He just stared blankly ahead while he rambled and made no eye contact at all.

Tips:

Wait until the sales forms are completed before handing over id/credit card.

Do not let your husband abandon you while you pay.

Make sure you bring your child who will serve as a handy distraction and allow you a quick and easy exit. And also prevent ‘chatting’.

xoxo a.m.

Toilet

About 4 or 5 months ago, V discovered the joys of unraveling toilet paper. As a total neat freak, I was not happy about his discovery, although I did enjoy the silly noises he made while he trashed my bathroom. Can’t get mad at that!

All of the toilet paper immediately moved to the bathroom counter, behind the sink and completely out of reach of small, determined fingers.

Bathrooms are just not a great place for children. Ours all have doorknobs that he can open. They aren’t ‘knobs’ per se, but more like handles. So he is in and out of the bathrooms all the time and is carefully monitored when he is near a drawer.

He mostly pulls things out and throws them either into the basket by the toilet or the bath tub. Or he just places them carefully on top of the toilet. Toe nail clippers, contact lenses, hair accessories. The other day I caught him with a tampon in his mouth. And it was one of those o.b. ones too, which I haven’t bought in years so lord only knows where he got it from.

This afternoon, while I wallowed in sickness upstairs, he emerged from the bathroom with a handful of condoms. He then proceeded to giggle hysterically and run all over the bedroom with them. And then cried when I took them away… (mental note to self, find new place for condoms and tampons).

Back to the TP… I guess he forgot about it, or we did or we all did because gradually it was re-hung and no-one paid it any mind. Until last night.

M was brushing his teeth in front of the TV in the bedroom and I was on the other side of the house putting some laundry away. V was running back and forth between us. At some point we lost track of him, maybe for about 5 seconds.

We both heard some very giggly giggling. It was extra giggly. It was coming from the bathroom.

I peeked around the corner to see it awash in a sea of white. Paper everywhere. V kicking his feet. Toilet paper everywhere. As those little fat fingers reached for what was left on the roll I did a run and dive with a slo-mo “Noooooooooo…”.

I handed Mr Giggle to Daddy.

As he was carried, giggling, out of the bathroom, I surveyed the room.

M’s voice drifted in from across the way “Don’t worry Hun! I’ll reroll it!”

Ha! Really? It seriously would have taken all night. I scooped it all up and dumped it in the sink. Strict instructions were issued to actually use it.

Oh how I love parenthood and my sink toilet-paper!

xoxo a.m.

Shave

Man, if I keep it up, just imagine what I could become!

It’s Wednesday and I can feel the sickness creeping up on me. As you know, our household is currently on a 4 month long course on illness. We are all trading off. There is always at least one of us not feeling our best. It was The Daddy’s turn a few weeks ago (tonsilitis), V’s turn last week (fever, vomiting and full-on body rash).  And now Mumma… 100 degree fever, cough, sore throat, all in its infancy.

That combined with the stress of my Mother’s upcoming visit (11 days and counting, must paint more rooms), the increasing busyness of my job, my determination  to fit either Spin class or weight-lifting in 3 times a week. Plus, full-time mother and wife-hood… ahh!

So today, on my way home from work I confided in M on the phone…

“Honey, I think I am getting sick… I’m not going to the gym tonight”.

“Well, I think you need to relax tonight. I’ll make dinner and I WANT you to take a bath…”

“Well, I don’t know… I’ll think about it”.

And I did. 40 minutes in the tub is a huge chunk of my evening. Can I justify it? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I did. I put V to bed, filled the tub and indulged myself.

It was extremely peaceful.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.

I shaved my legs.

Now this is a monumental event. Especially since I haven’t in so long that M has started to make daily jokes about the razor blade slashes on his legs every morning.

Heres my thinking:

My shower is not conducive to shaving. It’s Winter (ish). I wear a lot of pants. I’m too busy. I hit the alarm too many times in the morning. And thats how 3 months pass.

20 minutes later, they were mostly shaven. You really know it’s been too long when you have to use 2 blades. And that 2nd blade was the last one left. And so I couldn’t really finish. If you don’t look too closely (M, don’t look!), doesn’t look that bad!!

Next week? A reshave and possibly even painting my toes too.

I hope you all enjoyed the awesome highlight of my week…

xoxo a.m.

Beebee

Day by day, Little Man’s vocab is on the rise and it is truly an interesting thing to hear and help grow.

We are a big book family. I have these memories of going to the Library with my Mum when I was little  and taking out heaps and heaps of books. And then losing them around the house. And then swearing that I returned them. And then (when I was little) finding them at the bottom of the pile of papers for the fireplace (whew! Close call!).

And more embarrassing memories of being older, having Mum raid my room and taking actual laundry baskets full of books back to our local branch.

Oh god. How embarrassing that was. I might have cried all the way there in the car, ignoring the baskets in the back seat.

M used to read voraciously in bed. Whenever he didn’t know a word, he would shout it down the hall to his parents like so…

“Mom!!!!!”

(faintly) “What?”

“What’s a jockstrap??”

Loud laughter, some snorting and possible tears and no answer.

“Mom?! What’s so funny!! I don’t get it!!”

See? We are big nerds.

Anyways, I repeat words as often as possible, hoping that they will take.  Maybe 40 % of the time he repeats what I say and those little words are the sweetest things I have ever heard.

2 nights ago I coaxed him into saying ‘Night Night!” Although it sounded more like “Naa Naat!”

Dogs say either “Ffffffffft” or “Whoooooooo”.

Cats have just started saying “Meemeemmeeeee”

A baby bird says “Beebeebee”.

Lions say “AHHHHHHHHHRR!!”

And Chewie the chihuahua is now called “Zheeeeeweeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!”. He responds. That’s all that matters.

Books are his favorite things to play with right now and I think that is amazing. Awesome. Wonderful.

Each of these little words took a lot of careful and gentle repeating from Mummy.

Our big breakthrough was Saturday. While shopping at Target and walking throught the TV department, V was totally smitten with a cat he saw in a commercial. He pointed and asked, repeatedly, “Issat?! Issat!!!”.

“It’s a cat, honey. A cat says “MeowMeow”. And so we walked and I meowed and we did this all through the store. Mostly absent-mindedly on my part. Although these days, I absent-mindedly make a lot of very random noises while I am shopping with the Little Man.

“Meeemmeemeeemeemeee”, says the cat.

xoxo a.m.

Days like these…

5:00 am, alarm goes off.

5:30 the alarm goes off again.

And then, then no alarms. No alarms at all.

Yawning, I rummage under my duvet to where I have stashed my alarm clock so I can ignore it. In the dim light of the bedroom, I half open my right eye and peek at it.

6:29

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

M had to leave for work in 15 minutes and he was currently snoring. My left eye was still closed. V was still sleeping. So was the dog.

M, who was asleep, somehow managed to instantly manifest himself in the shower. Naked. Thank goodness he managed to take his clothes off.

I walked the dog, woke up V and traded places with M. It was a baby hand-off.

I had a 2 second shower. I forgot my breakfast on the kitchen counter. I did, however, manage to get myself dressed, get V dressed and drive my car.

Slightly out of breath, I managed to make it to daycare. We entered the classroom to the slightly apologetic smile of one of V’s teachers.

Unfortunately, she told us, DCF requires that students how have a documented fever not return to school for a 24 hour period. V was sent home yesterday at 4:10 with a fever of 100.8.

She reminded me that this was in the packet of papers that I filled out (I filled them out in September). Apparently I was expected to remember the fine print.

I was not pleased.

So Little Man went to work with Mummy this morning. And I called my Father-in-law, who happily came and picked him up and took him to Ikea for breakfast.

I swear I seethed about this all morning long. And I wonder how I will act around them this morning when I take him back. I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.

Later in the day I did receive an apologetic call from the school’s director, apologizing for the confusion with some blathering about how it was a ‘new policy’ (my ass) and how she was ‘sorry for the confusion’ (which she wasn’t). I knew she was only saying that as I had left the school saying that I ‘understood that there are rules, but I would have appreciated a reminder when I left with him the day before as I could have easily made arrangements’.

Regardless, I know the way it goes. When you work in one field, you automatically assume that everyone who employs your services understands the ins and outs. But the truth is, everyone knows very little.

So expecting me, as a mother of a young child, to automatically know the policies and procedures when a child has a fever is ridiculous. Perhaps if V was 3 or 4. But he isn’t even 2 yet and only  there for 3 months. So pardon me. Pardon freakin’ me for having not memorized all the paperwork that I signed and handed in in September and for, apparently, being a little ‘confused’ (as his young teacher explained to me with a wee frowny face) by everything.

And now, thursday morning, as I watch V eat breakfast and enjoy some morning Sesame Street, I am still thinking about how to handle the situation this morning. Humourously? Sternly? A combo of both?

One thing is for sure, there will be no apologizing on my part for anything. And since I am writing this down, I will be sure to remember to NOT apologize (it’s a bad habit of mine).

Wish me patience and a calm demeanor!

xoxo a.m.

Tush

Sometimes thinks that I need to have more Cham-pag-knee in my life.

Especially after this weekend.

And not that it was anything that awful, it’s just that it was all awful.

M has tonsillitis. And V is now allergic to Milk. There was projectile vomiting, diarrhea and severe diaper rash going on over here.

1) Tonsillitis. Antibiotics. Steroids. Magic Mouthwash. Literally he was sick for days before I forced him to go and see a doctor. The doctor told him that tonsillitis was contagious (which it is). He’d been sick for5 days at that time. He came home and refused to touch anyone.
“Jame, I’m contagious!”

Oh you dramatic Italian you. You are lucky that I love you, or you’d be dead. My patience had run out 3 days prior to this doctors visit, so you can just imagine how I greeted this exciting news. And also just how loving I was.

2) Projectile vomit. I hate you.

V has started coughing again. And Saturday was a rough coughing day. He came toddling over to me in the middle of the afternoon and climbed up into my lap and put his head on my chest. Oh dear. I immediately know something must be wrong as the only time he seeks out a cuddle is when he is feeling poorly.

He started coughing so violently that automatically my hand went up in front of his mouth. Good thing too since he started throwing up! A small quantity ended up in my hand while the rest of it ended up everywhere else. Pants, shirt, floor, chair, baby etc. When he was done, all I could do was sit there in shock with a hand full of vomit. And just what do you do with that? There I was, sitting in my computer chair with V in my lap, holding some puke.

I just had to rub it into my pants, suck it up and try to not throw up.

3) Milk allergy. No idea. But I swear since we found this out, he has had constant diarrhea. Sweet. And today? The day before we go and see the allergist? More diarrhea and the worst diaper rash ever. So bad, so bad and it just snuck up on us. So bad that I couldn’t even clean his bum properly he cried and screamed so much. It was so red, and red all the way up the front if you know what I mean *cough* the boys *cough cough*.

Poor little man. Poor big man. Poor Mummy.

So as Monday comes, I am crying tears of happiness.

Allergist. Diarrhea. Tonsillitis. Milk. Yay Monday.

Bastard

Post-Winter Break, V is back at daycare fulltime.

This week has been a wee bit of a rough re-transition for us all. Everyone back up at 5:30 am (instead of the glorious, heavenly and luxurious 6:30 am).  Of course at least one member of our household has to be sick at a time, this time it’s M’s turn. And, of course, V and his continuous skin slash allergy issues.

This week, with the re-introduction of daycare, comes the reappearance of his dry, scaley skin. All over his fat little soft tummy, up under his plump little arms, at the top  of his chubby little bum-cheeks. The last time we saw this was at least 6 to 9 months ago and it was concentrated on his calves and forearms, with the occasional appearance on his cheeks.

Totally dietary.

Totally awful.

Totally itchy.

At home his wheat intake is controlled. Only organic or high-quality products are allowed. I lean mostly on Pamela’s and Annie’s, both of which are delicious (Pamela’s being Gluten-free and Annie’s being not only adorable but the perfect size for little fingers. And healthy as well as adorable).

School, well… that’s a little harder to control…

This afternoon, I received a call from V’s pediatrician regarding his recent repeat allergy testing. I have been  waiting with baited breath for these results. How different will they be from a year ago? Better? Less reactive? Perhaps showing no allergies at all?

It was an interesting combo of smiles and frowns.

Happy faces for a decrease in his peanut allergy! *high five*

Frowny faces for an increase in his wheat allergy. *down low*

And some wtf faces for a sudden Milk allergy.

Seriously. W.T.F.

Milk allergy? Motherfucker. Allergies, you can kiss my ass.

I was the most collected of all mothers while I was receiving this info from Dr E. I need this info, because I need to know. I need to know how to proceed.

We have been referred to an allergist and somehow, by the grace of the Allergy Gods (who are apparently smiling on us), we have an appointment for Monday afternoon.

I so welcome it as I pretty much an at a loss of how to process this new information. Complete loss. And earlier, on the way home in my car, a few lip biting moments, a little bit of lip quivering too and some rather heavy sighs.

How to process? How to process it all. How to manage. How. To. Manage.

Can I just say that allergies are a total bastard.

Total.

(Other total bastard? Click here…

Honey

A few nights ago M and I were watching Iron Chef.

I have loved this show ever since I first was introduced to it in Japan, totally drawn to not only its overly dramatic host and but also his rabid destruction of red peppers at the start of each show.

And who could resist the simpering, giggling actresses whos only contribution to the meal critique was to perkily chirp “It’s delicious! So tasty!” repeatedly.

The American version managed to retain a little of the silliness (see Alton Brown) and takes itself rather seriously. I really enjoy the serious and descriptive critiques of each dish.

The other night we were watching Iron Chef: Super Chef Battle and the theme ingredient was vegetables from the White House garden.

The chefs all met at the White House, were greeted by Michelle Obama and then directed to the garden.

Now that is one hell of a garden. Every single vegetable was basically a textbook example of what that particular veggie should look like. Everything was so green and leafy and lush. It was pretty much the exact opposite of my weed-ridden little garden in our courtyard.

I am sure they have very  clever people looking after that garden. I am actually sure that there is a whole army of people who tend to that garden. I wish they could send a few people down my way and rejuvenate my little piece of dirt.

I had heard about the garden, but I hadn’t heard about the bees.

Did you know that they keep bees at the White House? There is an official White House BeeKeeper. And they harvest the honey and use it in food in the WH kitchen.

And after finding that out, I haven’t been able to stop googling Bee Keeping. and reading about it. For about 5 minutes last night, I was seriously thinking about where I could put a bee hive in my courtyard.

I thought about it pretty hard and then came to the conclusion that probably, especially with V, it would not be the best of ideas. Maybe just the reality of a huge colony in my small courtyard sunk in.

Maybe if I could have a teeny tiny colony? With just enough bees to produce enough honey for my tea.

Mmmmmm, that would be nice.

And just in case you also would like to have your own colony, here is a lovely informative site that will take you through all of the necessary steps.

xoxo a.m.

Pause

So my parents are arriving in T-minus 28 days or so. And so I have 4 weeks to turn our office into a cosy room . I have been up on a ladder drinking wine like a mother f’er for a week, while I paint that damn room and its damn closet.

Since last Tuesday that has been my evenings plan. And M was working all of those nights, so I embraced it as busy time for Mummy.

Ladders and wine every evening ended up with late nights, every night this past week.

And Thursday and Friday as well.

M, working at that Disney restaurant he moonlights at, and after coming home at 3 am 3 nights in a row, finally got a break Friday night and called me around 11 pm. He was on his way home. Holy crap!

Filet mignon with pepper crust and gorgonzola dressing is what awaited him. As well as me, up a ladder in the closet. With a glass of wine.

Shortly after he arrived and got settled with dinner and a well deserved beer, V woke.

And it was a scary awakening. Screaming and thumping rained down on our living room ceiling. So much so that I actually went up and cuddled  that little man. And then brought him downstairs. And then regretted it when he perked up as soon as my foot him that last step on the stairs.

Big smile for Daddy and an immediate “Issat!” with a big pointy finger at the TV where Top Chef Season 5 was playing.

That  Little Man was a midnight blur of activity. He ran around the living room, dragging his little chair up to the coffee table and plunking his tush down.

“Mumma! Baba!!”, he demanded.

Yes sir. Into the kitchen I went to get him a bottle of milk and a little midnight snack of Cheerios.

He sat so nicely in his chair when he snacked down. About 2 minutes into midnight snack, he picked up his bottle and snack dish and walked over to Daddy.

“Dadda!’, he shouted imperiously.

M obligingly lifted him up onto his lap where he sat for about 20 minutes, snacking and watching Top Chef.

Mama! Da!”, he shouted again, pointing at his book with the duck on the front cover. M transferred him over to me, and we read about the duck and how it was looking for its mother.

It was such a random late night. We were so amused by the Little Man. And then after his story, I carried him up to bed and he went right to sleep.

While this may (mostly may not) be exciting to you… and by ‘you’ I mean my Mum. Thank you Mum for reading this regularly… for us, it was just the sweetest late night treat.

For M and his week of really late nights, it was a lovely V-treat.

For me, it was a deep sigh of contentment. I watched the two of them together and felt my heart just melt with love.  It feels like these days are moving so quickly that any little moment like this is a little pause and sigh.

So my friends…. pause and sigh at those sweet moments.

And speaking of sweet moments, I must admit that I am fascinated by the fact that the White House has a beekeeper. And beehives. And harvests its own honey, which they use in the White House kitchen.

Totally so admirable and so wish I could have one too. But I have this feeling that my neighbours (in their much smaller townhouse) would totally be pissed at the constant buzzing noises and non-stop dog-barking that would result from the constant buzzing.

So for now, I’ll just admire those WH clever-clogs. And check out this link to check out those sweet honey makers…

xoxo a.m.